


Let's Call It a Job Interview

by Teaotter



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Dollhouse
Genre: Coercion, Consent Issues, Dubious Morality, Gen, Mind Control, Minor Violence, Unreliable Narrator, canon level possession issues, canon level slavery issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Topher just wants to get back to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Call It a Job Interview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/gifts).



> Do I have to say this is AU? This is AU for both shows.

It's another shitty day in Hawaii.

Okay, it's a beautiful day in Hawaii, except that it's eighty-three degrees and sixty percent humidity inside the house, and even if they'd left him with anything with more computing power than an X-Box, Topher wouldn't be able to use it without the damn thing overheating. Which might be all right, except that they also hadn't left him with a timetable about when they'd be back for him. Not even a hint. Just the keys to a house filled with bland rental furniture and a bank account with enough cash that it might actually be all the back pay Rossum owes him. Maybe.

Topher's been alone in this house for way too long, though, and he's had way too much time to think. And not enough alcohol. The grocery deliveries to the house once a week don't include the makings of margaritas, which is a shame because, hello! he's in Hawaii. And he really could use a drink, or six, just to make the days go faster.

Hawaii is the most boring place ever to wait and see if your criminal overlords manage to outlast the fall of SHIELD – though Topher's not sure whether Rossum was involved with SHIELD, or HYDRA, or possibly both, considering what he's seen on tv – or whether said overlords decided to sell out their minions to the highest bidder. To be honest, if it'll get him back to work, Topher is ready to be sold out.

But in the meantime, he orders pizzas and plays video games and comes up with cool new ideas that he'd be testing right now if he were actually at work, but no –

– and cycle #312 of 'Topher's shitty day' is interrupted by the pizza guy ringing the doorbell.

Except when Topher goes to answer the door, it isn't the pizza guy. Unless the pizza guy is an older white guy in a plain suit and sunglasses. And no pizza.

“Topher Brink?”

“Is not me,” Topher says automatically, and tries to shut the door.

He gets pushed back into the living room anyway, Suit Guy just walking forward as if he owns the place. He might; his suit fits the décor better than Topher's Hawaiian shirt, anyway. There's also a hot older Asian woman in leather, though, so that's not too bad. Except it's pretty clear she's got – okay, more than one gun, actually, and that means Suit Guy probably does, too.

“Do you have a gun? Not that I'm asking -”

“Yes, I do.” Suit Guy's mouth twitches as if he's trying to have a facial expression. “But I won't shoot you if you answer my questions.”

“Questions, right.” And suddenly, the whole thing makes sense, and Topher can't help laughing at how stupid he'd just been. “Oh hey, this is a job interview, right? You want to bring me in.”

They do, in fact, both move like secret agents, and they glance at each other like secret agents, and this is Topher's chance to get back to work. Because someone up the food chain has finally realized that they can't just let Topher Brink rot out here. 

Whoever 'they' are. 

Not that he cares.

Still laughing, he heads toward the kitchen. He doesn't look back to see if they're following. “You want something to drink? I think I've got sodas in the fridge –”

“No, thank you, Mr. Brink,” Mr. Suit says politely. “Or should I call you Topher?”

“Topher's fine. I'm a casual Fridays kind of guy. Even when it's not Friday.” He cracks open a bottle of one of the ridiculous local pineapple sodas and comes back to flop on the couch. “And what should I call you? Not that I expect you to give me your real name or anything.”

The guy sits primly on the arm of the perfectly comfy chair and folds his hands over his knee. His face is doing that twitching thing again. “I don't look familiar to you at all?”

Topher looks at his face again. Still twitching. Maybe it's a different twitch, he wouldn't know. “Nope, not that I recall. Have we met before?”

Lady Suit speaks up. “About two years ago. You worked on a project – Agent Phil Coulson.”

“Oh.” The name is familiar, two years ago, what was two years ago... Oh, yeah, watching the Chitauri invasion on CNN all night, then getting dragged out of bed at ass o'clock in the morning for that whole Agent thing – “Oh! That. You were there, huh? You know that wasn't my idea –”

“But you admit you were part of the team?”

“Well, yeah, I was part of the team. I'm a freaking genius, everyone wants me on the team.” The guy's face still isn't familiar, though. Not that Topher spends a lot of time looking at the spooks who come and go. But the project, yeah, he remembers that. “Agent Phil Coulson, yeah. They had an older recording, but they wanted it updated with new memories, something to patch over the time between when the imprint was made and when they were using it. I had to put it together from security footage – anyone else would've bungled it, but I made it work.”

“Did you?”

“I never got any complaints.”

Mr. Suit's face twitches again, and this time, it's kind of scary. “I'm complaining now.”

“Really?” His hands are sweaty. But he doesn't really have anything to worry about; his work on that one was _solid_. “What did he do, join the other side in your little SHIELD-HYDRA ball game?”

Mr. Suit leans forward, just a little, and he's suddenly way too close to Topher's personal space. “You really don't recognize me, do you?”

“What?” Topher's on his feet, backing into the kitchen – to put the soda bottle down, right – when it hits him. He has to stare pretty hard to see it, though. The face was throwing him off, but if he just looks at the body language – yeah, he totally knows this guy. “Oh, man! You're still him, aren't you? Good old Agent Phil.”

Lady Suit has Topher shoved up against the wall before he can even blink. It'd be hot, if she'd just let him breathe. “I never said _I_ wouldn't shoot you.”

It's such a cliché piece of dialogue, good cop-bad cop routine gone really fucking trite, and Topher's glad he's not responsible for her half of the conversation. 

He doesn't realize that weird sound is him trying to laugh around her hand on his throat until she lets go. She's still crowding him against the wall, all 'one wrong move and I'll kill you' bluster, and it doesn't mean a damned thing. 

His knees are just a little weak from the lack of oxygen.

Topher settles himself on his feet and manages a real laugh. “Shoot me? You _need_ me. Actives weren't meant to be imprinted permanently. I bet his memories are breaking down. That's why you're here, right?”

Agent Phil comes to stand next to her. “Do you know who I was? The active, as you call him. Do you know who he was?”

His face has stopped twitching. That was a lot more interesting in the profile than in person, Topher'll have to remember that.

“No clue. They don't tell me these things, and I don't ask.”

“Then we're done here.”

Agent Phil turns toward the door; Lady Suit just steps backwards, still threatening imminent harm but following Agent's lead. It's like they're on a script or something.

Hell, they probably are. It's just a job interview; one of the ones that involve threats, rather than obscene amounts of money. It's not like he hasn't been through this before.

“Wait!” he calls, and they both stop to look at him. “I've been working on a new way to install the active architecture.”

Agent Phil frowns at him. “Speak English.”

“I was, but I'll try smaller words.” Topher grins; he has this. “You can't slap new memories into just anyone's head. There has to be a neural pathway – oh, wait, small words – there has to be something in the brain to attach the memories to. We used to have to do surgery, put giant clunky tech in their head. We've gotten better in the last few years, so it's just a tiny thing that makes your brain do most of the actual work. But I –” his grin broadens. “I have a way of doing it without any implants at all.”

They give each other another one of those Secret Agent Looks. “So you can do this to anyone.”

“Think about it – no implants to detect!” Topher waves his hands, like the soon-to-be useless scanners, only bigger. This is definitely bigger. “There'll be no way to tell an active from a normal person!”

“Undetectable mind control.” Lady Suit looks grimmer than before. Topher would've sworn that wasn't possible.

“You're thinking too small. Haven't you ever seen The Matrix?” It's like they don't get it at all. “Ever wanted to know how to fly a helicopter?”

She actually rolls her eyes: _win_. “I do.”

“Whatever.” Topher pushes that example aside. “I could've put that knowledge directly into your head in less than an hour. Need to be able to hack a computer? Deliver a baby? Negotiate a legal contract in Russian? Okay, you probably know Russian – but you see what I mean. Instant training. Instant experts.”

“You can't upload experience.” Agent Phil shakes his head, but his eyes – yeah, he's starting to get it. Topher is so proud. 

“But I can. Experience is just a set of memories of what worked and what didn't. I can give you that.”

“We don't need you.”

“Then someone else will.” Topher flops back down on the couch, disappointed. That's disappointment that they don't appreciate his genius, not some fear of abandonment or shit like that. He's just tired of being bored. 

So it's not really a bad thing when Agent Phil drags him upright by his shirt. Nice arm strength, good use of the stern face – 

“What you've done to me – to countless others – is monstrous.” His voice is still calm, though, and yep, that's as scary as Topher'd thought it would be. “You can't just take someone's humanity away from them.”

“Take?” His palms are sweaty again. “This isn't about taking humanity. It's about making humanity _better_.”

Agent Phil drops Topher like a hot brick. He kind of misses the couch seat and ends up on the floor. Nicely intimidating.

“Let's go,” he says. 

But he doesn't move, and Topher has to laugh again. Even if it comes out sounding nervous. “You aren't going to leave me here.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I know you.” Topher climbs slowly up off the floor, dusting himself off. “They told me, oh, Agent Phil is the best man I know, Agent Phil is one of the good guys.”

Topher's starting to get really, really pissed. They don't have to manhandle him like this. He's fucking cooperative. But no, they've gotta be better than him. He's a monster. Boo fucking hoo.

“But once you've thought about what I can do, you'd kick yourself for letting me go.” He looks Agent Phil straight in the eye. “Because I worked with that goddamn imprint, and I know you better than anyone else ever will – whatever people say about you, you are too fucking _good at your job_ not to use me.”

Of course, getting in a staring contest with Agent Phil means not keeping an eye on Lady Suit. So all Topher's got after that is a memory of a blur, then pain, and then nothing until he wakes up with a whanging headache. The room is empty, but it's air conditioned, and it's actually a room – not a jail cell, not a holding cell. Just a room, with a cot and a table and a door that probably locks from the outside.

But somewhere nearby, there's gonna be a computer. And they're gonna ask him to get to work, and finally, he's gonna be able to get these ideas out of his head and into the world. Because he's Topher Brink, he's a fucking genius, and they finally figured that out.

Besides. He's totally right about Agent Phil. Topher's seen inside his head. Regardless of what everyone wants to think about the good guys and the bad guys – when you're following orders, it's all the same.

Topher, for one, is just glad to be back to work.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Let's Call It a Job Interview](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656814) by [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins), [Teaotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter)




End file.
